Jealous of the Sun
by Rachel-Jane Kensington
Summary: Morgana’s always been a jealous girl, but this may be taking things a bit too far. ArMor songfic based on Shania Twain's 'I'm Jealous'. Rated T for suggested sexual themes.


A/N: Second attempt at both ArMor and songfic. I'm actually really proud of this one, hope you guys like :)** Btw- fair warning**, I think I mention something about Arthur and Morgana being half-brother and sister (which isn't touched on in the show but is true in every version of the legend I've ever read). I know it's not mentioned in the show, but I really don't care, it's how the story goes lol. If their being related and in love offends you please don't read. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own either 'Merlin' or the song "I'm Jealous". All rights reserved to BBC1 and Shania Twain.

**Jealous of the Sun**

_I wish I were the sun shining on your face, caressing like a lover  
I would wrap you in a warm embrace, we'd be holding one another  
When the sun's on your skin, I can't hold it in  
And I know it's a sin, but I'm jealous of the sun_

Late afternoon is Morgana's favorite time of day. The sun's rays begin to darken into gold as they stream onto the practice fields behind the castle and she can feel a quiet seeping into Camelot as wives make their way home to begin supper and the venders at the market begin to pack up their wares. The end of the day is just barely out of reach and it seems the entire kingdom can feel the peace of evening washing over them at once.

At least, that's her excuse for sitting on the battlements above her tower bedroom each afternoon. She takes tasks with her so as not to look obvious. Books to read, pillows to embroider, dresses to mend. Gwen pretends not to notice when they leave to dress for dinner and Morgana is still on the same page or pillow corner as she was two hours previous. She fights to hide a smile at the predictable sigh that leaves Morgana's lips so softly anyone but a best friend would never notice.

The King's ward would never say it out loud (though she aches to), but there is something about the beauty of Arthur in this perfect afternoon light that nearly takes her breath away. Nearly every day she goes up to watch him and the sight never wears on her, never becomes anything close to common place.

He isn't doing anything spectacular, only helping the knights train and stay fit as is his duty. He parries and turns, pivots then pushes his opponents down with a swift kick before forcing them to submit. They never win against him, which makes the Crown Prince the best enemy to practice on. Morgana is faintly aware that it's a little sick and rather telling of her affections that each of his victories (no matter how insignificant or predictable) makes her stomach do a little hoppity-skippity thing, a smile of satisfaction stretching across her face.

"He's such an idiot." The young lady mumbles to her servant in disgust, though her eyes are exuberant.

"Who, my Lady?" Gwen asks, feigning oblivion.

"_Arthur_." Morgana forces the word out, trying to ignore how much she loves the feeling of his name on her tongue. "Strutting around down there without any armor on. What does he think, that he's invincible?"

"Probably." Her servant shrugs, smiling softly. "You know the Prince."

Morgana only laughs at her comment, and when Gwen joins her she can't help thinking that the joke really wasn't funny enough for her charge to be laughing so loudly. When they calm down, Morgana's eyes return back to the ground and she has that concentrated look in her eyes again, as though she is a hawk who has found prey and is studying it carefully.

She tells herself that any moment she will look away, that if she really wanted to, she could. But it's been almost a month since they began coming to sit up on the battlements and she has yet to tear her eyes from him. It's nothing serious, really. Just that Arthur's skin aches with beauty in this light. His hair is like the summer wheat that fans out in great waves on the outskirts of Camelot, golden and ruffling gently under the wind. His blue eyes glow against the contrast of his reddening cheeks and bright hair like sapphires in front of a flame. From her perch, Morgana can see every flex of every muscle, every drop of sweat, hear every groan and metallic clash of blade on blade.

As he walks away from another victory, his face shines in the light and the beauty of his smile seems wrapped up in it, amplified by the last bits of golden sunshine stretching across the countryside. Suddenly the joy in her eyes, the smile tugging at the side of her mouth fades to shadow. What she would give to wrap that closely around him. To make him glow and shine and put to shame every painting and tapestry that depicts his image along the castle walls.

Why should the sun touch him when she cannot? It seems even nature is apt to toy with her heartstrings now. Wearing a perfect frown, Morgana finally looks away from him for just a moment, gazing down at her lap with the depressing realization that she is jealous of the sun.

_I wish I were the rain runnin' down your neck and dripping from your fingers  
Then I could be the drops rollin' off your back, I'd love to let it linger  
When it rains on your face I almost can taste your beauty, your grace  
I'm jealous of the rain_

She confesses to the court priest about her feelings of resentment towards the sun as she knows she should. Jealousy is a sin and cannot be hidden from God. But just like every other confession, this one does her heart no good. The church leaves her feeling as empty as it ever has. Even while its walls are a sanctuary for the rest, houses of God only ever feel like cold, drafty cages to Morgana.

The priest is at first unsure how to handle her admission, after all, it's not every day his followers confess to being jealous of a lifeless, spinning orb. However, he assures her that the sun is one of God's most beloved creations and that she should rejoice in it. Morgana is thankful for the screen that separates them when she rolls her eyes at this suggestion.

'_And while we're at it,' _She thinks to herself, sarcastically. _'Let's send gift baskets to all the princesses in the entire world inviting them over for tea so they can be shoved under Arthur's nose. Whose side are you _on, _you babbling buffoon?' _

With a huff, she leaves the chapel and stalks back up to her room. Once there, she intends to take a nice hot bath to ward off the autumn chill setting in and forget all about Arthur. And it works. Until that evening.

The rain is heavy and starts as soon as she has settled into her bubble bath. It pours down for the rest of the day, relentless. Slowly, but gradually, the river that Camelot depends so heavily on begins to turn against them as the banks rise and threaten to flood the homes and streets. Arthur and his men set out an hour before dinner to help lay out bags of sand in an effort to damn up the river and keep it under control. It's rough going for them and the entire castle is buzzing with nervous energy, even as dinner is taken quietly between the King and his ward in the Great Hall.

Just as dessert is being set in front of them, Arthur bursts into the room to council with his father and Morgana gasps lightly, startled by the noise. Uther seems completely nonplussed, in fact he is pleased to see his son, hoping for good news. As the Crown Prince comes to stand at the middle of the table so as not to be rude to either of them, Morgana stifles a laugh. Drenched to the bone, she's never seen anyone so wet in her entire life. At least not out of a lake. He looks ridiculous.

"I thought you were supposed to be damning the river up, not going for a swim in it." She tries to keep the quip locked inside of her throat but fails, finding his appearance irresistibly funny. The reward comes quickly in the form of a very unamused scowl from Arthur. He has just spent the last two hours outside in the freezing cold rain, mucking around the banks of a flooded river. He is not to be toyed with any time soon.

From the opposite end of the table, Uther shoots her a look (though she can tell he's fighting a smile as well) and she mouths a quick apology before looking away into the fire. But then he begins to explain the situation to his father in that voice of his, the regal and commanding one he saves for occasions such as these, and Morgana shivers.

'_It's freezing out.' _She reminds herself. It's a wonder she hasn't caught a chill anyway, this has nothing to do with the Prince of Camelot.

Before she can stop them, her eyes have drifted back to where Arthur stands, a small collection of puddles forming on the marble floor around him as rivulets of water run off his skin and coat. As he runs a hand back through his soaked hair, giving it that ruffled look it has when he's stumbling out of bed, the water streams down his neck and Morgana feels her spine straighten, her shoulders fall back and her eyes lock on his skin the way it does when she sits on the battlements in the afternoon sunshine.

His skin is taking on an even deeper glow than it does in those moment thanks to the fire and Morgana's dessert sits untouched before her, completely forgotten. She doesn't want treacle pudding, what good will that do her? She's tasted it a thousand times anyway. No, she wants to taste something new and fresh and feral. The rain dripping from Arthur's finger tips. The cold, wet skin of his neck. The slick feel of his hair between her warm fingers.

The images curling through her mind in a smokey haze bring heat to her cheeks and she's not sure how she can sit in the same room as her adopted father and think such things about his son, who is standing not ten feet away. But she wouldn't move if either of them paid her.

A gently amused smile lifts one side of her mouth as she watches Arthur speak to his father. She's always thought his mouth had a funny shape, that there is something about his teeth which only serves to accentuate this fact. More and more she's realizing how endearing it is. Especially when he struts into a room and tries to sound all official and important for the King.

Uther is a difficult man to please and few can meet his standards. Arthur's ability to maneuver the King's ever changing and ruthless moods never fail to make Morgana's blood run a little faster in her veins. He never falters, never stammers or hesitates. Every challenge hurled his way is defeated. Moreover, he isn't afraid to second-guess his father for the sake of Camelot's people. He stands up for what he believes is right, whether he knows it will be shot down or not. It was this that made Morgana sure the Crown Prince possesses more grace than any other man she has ever met. She isn't sure where this trait has blossomed from because it certainly didn't come from Uther. All she knows is that it makes her want him even more.

As the conversation between the King and his son begins to wind down and Arthur prepares to leave the warmth of the castle in favor of the cold, pelting rain once more, Morgana feels her spirits sink. A familiar twinge of resentment coils around her heart. What has the rain done that it deserves to fall all over him for hours at a time? Why should it be allowed to trace his skin and kiss his fingertips twice in one night, while Morgana is stuck in the Great Hall with Uther? How could it manage to be so close to him that it molded to every sinew of muscle, every curve of bone…

If she concentrates hard enough, Morgana realizes she can already taste what his skin would feel like, drenched in rain. What his frozen mouth would be like melting against hers, the way his cold body would warm wrapped in hers.

'_I could do better by him than any storm.' _She thinks resentfully as he turns from his father for the doors. For a moment, their eyes snag on one another's and in that half-second of life she is sure her heart stopped beating. He gives her a curt nod of recognition, but there is a softness in his eyes where there had only been hardened resolve moments before. Though they fight often and pretended to hate one another, there is a serious dependency between the two. Morgana needs him to push against when she's frustrated with Uther or trying to hide how much she misses her mother. Arthur needs someone he knows will let him push back, someone who can roll with his punches and isn't afraid to give a few back. For this, at least, she knows he doesn't _always_ mind having her around.

As his eyes fall away from hers, lightning flashes outside and Morgana takes a sip of wine to distract her from the way the bits of blue in Uther's stained glass windows burst with the same kind of brilliance as Arthur's eyes in the sun. She excuses herself from dinner a few moments later, feigning a headache and chills and Uther allows her to leave without hesitation. He has plans to go over anyway for the securing of the castle, should the flood waters reach so high. It's better if she leaves, she tells herself.

As soon as she is in her room, Morgana goes to the window to try and spot Arthur along the river, but the rain is too heavy and all she sees is the blur of water against glass. Another perfect frown pulls down her lips and her shoulders sag with disappointment, eyes burning with jealousy that the rain should not only know him so intimately twice in one night, but then act as a curtain to shut her out.

'_You have no claim on him.' _The water seems to giggle as it splashes against the window. _'Go ahead and sit in your chambers all alone and pouting. It will do you no good. Tonight, he is mine.' _

Morgana is sure she's going crazy, but it doesn't stop how much she wishes she could be the rain that night.

_When the wind's in your hair, the way it blows through the air  
If I were the wind, I would make you fly, it seems so unfair  
And I'm jealous of the wind_

In a twist of fate that the King's ward cannot help herself from savoring, Arthur catches a very nasty cold from his little tryst with the rain. Even as she visits him (often) she wears a little smile of satisfaction, convinced that he is only getting what he deserves. However, he is strong and Gaius is the best physician in the land, so in less than two days Arthur is back outside with his men and the sun and the rain again. To celebrate, he arranges a hunt and invites all the noblemen's sons, knights or not.

"It's such a brutish past time." Morgana sighs distastefully as she holds back the curtain of her window, watching Arthur ride out from the courtyard with his men.

"Er, what is my Lady?" Gwen asks, genuinely unsure what Morgana is on about this time, too busy arranging all the flowers Arthur's friends have brought with them as tokens of affection while they stay at the castle. The servant girl found it extremely amusing watching the young Prince of Camelot attempt to look completely unaffected by the gifts and Morgana's gushing declarations of appreciation as the men had been presented to the court. His discomfort had seemed obvious to her, but it seemed her Lady had stayed ignorant.

"Hunting." Morgana's nose wrinkles, her hand falling sharply from the curtain as she turns on her heal to face the room. "It's just so awful, I don't know how anyone can take pleasure in it."

Truth be told, Morgana is desperate to try her hand at the sport. She's had more than a few daydreams of racing Arthur into the forest and showing him just how sharp her eyes are, how quick her reflexes can be, how skillful her hands are with a bow and arrow. Sometimes at night, she puts herself to sleep with these epic adventures, fancying herself akin to the pagan Roman goddess Diana of the Hunt, running through the forest as though she had lived in it her whole life. Though she has never told anyone, it is the trees that have always felt her true sanctuary anyway. _They_ were her cathedral, not Uther's grand houses of Christ.

Often, these fantasies end with Morgana showing Arthur up at his own games and then, perhaps a swim in the lake that lies a bit deeper on. They would splash and swim together and she would have no need to be jealous of the water that ran across his skin or the sun that fell through his hair and lit up his eyes. She would put them all to shame, make _them_ jealous on the hard earth of the forest floor, nothing but the endless expanse of sky above them and the Oak groves cradling them in secrecy.

But then morning would come and her eyes would blink awake and she would realize that none of it had actually happened and the truth of it would haunt her for the rest of the day. This day however, that will not trouble her. She is going to have a very lovely, peaceful day shopping in the village with Gwen. She has ordered a few new gowns from the seamstress for the banquets that would welcome Arthur's visiting peers and they are supposed to be ready this afternoon. Until then they will walk around looking at the wares everyone else has to offer, perhaps buy a new necklace or set of earrings for her dresses.

"These are very pretty." Gwen suggests, holding up a pair of pearl earrings for Morgana to judge. And she is right, they are beautiful. But they are also safe, which is not a card the King's ward gets any fun out of playing, especially when meeting new people. Or attempting to make Arthur jealous.

"Yes." Morgana replies wistfully, her spoiled little heart clearly being pulled in a different direction.

"What is it?" Gwen asks, a knowing smile stretching across her face. She knows her Lady. Morgana would have spotted what she is looking for from the moment she walked in to the jeweler's shop, but she would still insist on carefully inspecting every last piece before accepting her true desire as the best choice. Holding back an excited grin, Morgana takes Gwen's hand and leads her around the counter to look at a pair of ruby earrings trimmed with amber topaz. Immediately, the servant girl's eyes widened with surprise.

'_What it must be like,' _Gwen shakes her head inwardly, _'To see such things and just…have them.'_

"They must be at least eighty crowns." She breathes in awe.

"Not bad, Guinevere." Morgana nudges her, an impressed look blossoming on her beautiful face. "Eighty-five, actually."

Gwen only shrugs, though she can't help being a little proud of her appraisal skills.

"We'll take them." Morgana informs the storekeeper not two minutes later. She knew they would be coming home with her from the moment she set eyes on them. They were Arthur's favorite deep red and would set off her brand new maroon gown perfectly at the feast. Her stomach begins to flutter with anticipation. She's had a strange, looming sense of warmth and goodness all day about that evening that refuses to be shaken. Though unsure of what is to come, Morgana is almost positive it will be in her favor.

They pick up the dresses next and Morgana is so happy with their perfection she is sure she will burst. Tipping the seamstress a few crowns extra, she saunters out with a wink and is in better spirits than she has been for a long while. She helps Gwen carry the gowns up to the castle and there they stop for a drink of water from the courtyard fountain. It's rather windy out and the cold air has left both of their throats dry from walking around town all day.

Just as they are relieving their throats with the water Gwen has coaxed from the fountain, Morgana feels the ground beneath her shake from the weight of horse hooves. Moments later Arthur's entire hunting party bursts through the gates led by the Crown Prince himself. The wind that has been stirring up Morgana's skirts all day now drifts through Arthur's hair and as he throws his head back, laughing loudly at something one of the men says, she is sure her breath has become stuck in her throat.

His cloak catches in the breeze, waving with the crest of Pendragon as proud as any flag when he jumps down from the saddle of his horse and Merlin rushes over to take the horse to the stables. The pair exchange a few words over what must be done for the horse and what Arthur expects waiting for him in his chambers after he has finished presenting their catches to the King. Merlin nods, congratulating his majesty on a fine day of hunting before turning to leave. Arthur begins strutting towards the castle steps and is just about to go past them without saying a word when Morgana catches his eye and he freezes in place for just a moment. Suddenly, he has changed direction to come toward them and Morgana can feel her heart begin to race. Still, her face remains cool, calm, unaffected by his presence.

"The hunter returns." She greets him with a casual smile that edges on patronizing. The usual.

"Morgana." He greets her with a similar look, hand on his sword. Her eyes stray to his hair where the wind continues to ruffle the golden strands around like a lover in bed. Suddenly, the King's ward can feel that familiar, heated coiling in her chest again.

"Have fun killing things?" She asks lightly, mocking smile firmly in place as her eyes continue to flick across his broad shoulders, accentuated by the regal cloak draped around them. His muscular chest, the outlines of which tease her as the wind ripples his tunic against his body and then away from it and then back again.

"More than you can imagine. Have fun single-handedly stimulating Camelot's economy?"

"I suppose you'll find out at the feast." She teases, meeting his cold blue eyes head on now and refusing to back down. This is a silent game they like to play, one that Morgana likes to imagine has been passed down to them from the wild, as wolves and eagles are the only other beings she knows of who stake any kind of measure by staring contests. The thought that she and Arthur simply share the same unspoken language of constant push and pull isn't quite as appealing, but still flits through her mind as plausible.

"I suppose I will." He gives her a once over that is supposed to appear unintimidated but frays apart at the edges when his eyes start to divulge appreciation instead. He concedes a small nod of acknowledgement towards Morgana's maid, mutters her name and then turns to leave.

"What an absolute prat." The young lady shakes her head in his direction, eyes still trained on his retreating figure.

"He can't help it." Gwen shrugs, taking the packages that hold Morgana's dresses back up into her arms. Her Lady does the same, though her eyes are still narrowed in Arthur's direction as he laughs with his fellow noblemen in the middle of the courtyard. "It's in his blood."

Morgana laughs softly, her hair falling across her face as she looks down for a moment. All the while, her heart is splintering with a desperate jealously. Her fingers yearn to comb through Arthur's hair as the wind takes liberties to. The knowledge that something so cold and harsh can trace along the outlines of his chest and shoulders while she is forced to keep her hands at her sides is excruciatingly unfair. At the top of the steps, Morgana allows herself one last glance in Arthur's direction. She is sure that if she were allowed any of these pleasures, even if just once, she would never take them for granted as the wind does. She would make him feel the love in her touch, she would lift him up and make him feel as though he could fly.

_When the moon's in your eyes, you seem to light up the skies,  
If I were the moon, I could catch your eye, And I realize…  
I'm even jealous of the moon_

When Morgana enters the room, every eye turns to look at her. A handful of gasps fall on her ears and she holds back a smile, waving appreciatively to a few select guests of special importance. She's aware of the stares and of course she enjoys the attention, any woman would. But as her gaze casually roams from the food to the decorations, she can't help trying to figure out where the hell Arthur is. She is anxious to decode what his eyes will surely give away about his feelings towards her new clothes and jewels.

It takes a while to work through the crowd as she charms Uther's guests, laughing at all the right moments and finding all the perfect words. As she flutters from one cluster of courtiers to another, she is welcomed with big smiles and open arms and everyone watches her seemingly effortless social grace in awe. Between her beauty, solid moral core and charm, it sometimes feels as though she isn't even human. She knows from eavesdropping that this is one of the traits Arthur finds most irritating about her. But she takes a great deal of pleasure in irritating him so it all evens out.

Once or twice she spots Arthur's golden head, taller than the rest of his friends', looming across the hall. But by the time she has politely untangled herself from a conversation and fought the crowds of people that separate them, he has vanished again. She shrugs this away, knowing he'll be forced to at least acknowledge her when they take up their places on either side of the King once the feast commences. However, even then she is disappointed because Uther has (just this once) granted his son permission to dine with his friends since they are hardly ever all at court together. Morgana nods, forcing a smile in return for the explanation. This makes sense, she tells herself, trying desperately not to care.

Finally, after hours of near-painful boredom, the crowds begin to wane. Morgana assumes this will make Arthur easier to find, imagines that he may even seek her out to share a joke about how inebriated Uther is from all the ale. But the more people stumble off to bed, the less hope Morgana is able to hold out for herself. Eventually, she begins to concede that it is far too late for her to be waiting around for her spoiled, prat of a half-brother any longer. She is tired and wants only to collapse onto her bed, falling asleep to yet another imaged adventure of dark forests and bright blue eyes.

The winding stairs that lead to her tower chamber seem only to make the fatigue worse and by the time she's opened her door, Morgana is already half-asleep. The hearth is unlit, the candles blown out and if it weren't for the light of the nearly-full moon streaming through her windows, she would have had no idea where she was going. Taking her shawl from around her shoulders, Morgana lets down her hair, shaking the dark waves out across her shoulders as she steps out of her shoes. Just as her fingers reach behind her back to undo the clasps of her gown, a sound in the shadows near the window makes every muscle in her body go rigid. Ready to dismiss the sound as her own exhausted mind, her heart thuds painfully hard in her chest when another sound (almost like the rustling of a cloak or the click of a heeled boot against her stone floor) breaks into the silence.

"Gwen?" Morgana's voice is shaky as she slowly turns toward the window, paralyzed with fear. God only knows what drunk idiot has wandered into her chambers so late at night. Her bare feet take a few cautious steps towards the window, breathing subdued to forced silence as her ears strain for another sound.

…Nothing…

Then-

"AAAAAHH!" Morgana's shrill scream echoes throughout the entire chamber as nimble fingertips flit up the spine of her gown, terrifying her half to death. Jumping around, she is met only with a cackling and rather pleased with himself Prince Arthur. The bastard.

"You should have seen your face!" He howls, head thrown back in a series of laughs. Already filled with resentment towards him for eluding her all night and ruining what she had really believed was going to be a perfect evening, Morgana's eyes narrow and she grabs the nearest pillow off her bed. With his eyes tightly shut, peals of laughter still bouncing around the room, he doesn't stand a chance and her steady thwack to the face catches him completely off guard. Holding his nose in surprised confusion, Arthur looks around with stunned eyes, clearly not thinking Morgana capable of such force.

It's then that one of the hall guards pokes his head in the door.

"My lady, we heard a scream, is everything alright?" He asks, nearly faltering when he sees the Crown Prince standing next to her, holding his face in pain. Morgana only smiles warmly, arranging the pillow back along the head of her mattress.

"Everything's fine, thank you." She assures him, her voice like honey. Nodding a bit awkwardly, the guard gives Arthur one last unhinged glance, before turning and closing the door behind him. Immediately, Morgana's face drops to scowl and she marches over to the only other person left in the room.

"Alright, you've had your fun. Now get out." Her voice has lost its sweet, inviting easiness. Now it is cold and biting. Which, of course, only provokes Arthur.

"Or what, you'll declare an all out pillow _war_?" Leaning towards her in the moonlight, his confident smirk mocks her. "I'm terrified."

Morgana rolls her eyes, stepping around him towards the bedside table where she pulls out a set of matches. The flame ignites easily and she uses the first candle to light a few others. When she turns around, she's hoping Arthur will have taken the hint of her silence and left, but instead he has invited himself to stand at her window.

"What are you staring at?" She asks, her tone rude as she struts over to the glass panes. They're tinted blue from the ethereal light pouring in, making little cut out squares of icy white along the floorboards.

"There's something about the moon tonight." His face looks confused, as though he isn't sure what's drawing him to the satellite. All he knows is that he can't look away. "It seems unusually bright."

Morgana keeps her mouth shut, not too keen on the idea of indulging him any time soon, but he is right. The cold night air has left no clouds or foggy haze behind to mask the brilliance of the moon or stars that evening and they are shining with their full force. Normally, she could stare at the moon far longer than anyone else she knew. There is something about it that calms her, seems almost to look down on her with the love of a surrogate mother. But tonight she feels only frustration.

All night all she has wanted is for Arthur to look at her, just once. And even in her own chambers it seems she cannot draw his attention. After competing with the rain and sun and wind for the past month, losing once more to the moon is enough to make Morgana want to cry. No one is as good at making her feel as inadequate as Arthur does.

_I don't wanna share you with nothing else, I gotta have you to myself  
I can't help it, I'm so in love, I just can't get you close enough_

Forcing a deep breath into her lungs, she turns to him, deciding that it best if he just leaves. And after all, these are _her_ chambers. She'll call the guard if she has to- Prince or not, he has to listen to her in this room if no where else. But before she can even open her mouth, he has (once again) beaten her to the chase.

"Morgana, I wanted to tell you…" His voice is low as it trails off, the words escaping his grasp when their eyes meet. Bathed in moonlight, he can't help thinking how beautifully her pale skin seems to glow.

"Yes?" She urges him on impatiently, not entirely sure why he's just standing there, staring at her like an idiot.

"You look lovely tonight."

"Just tonight?" She asks coyly, taking a step closer to him as a satisfied smirk wraps around her lips. For a moment he looks away from her, pretending to think back on every other night he's ever laid eyes on her. Finally, it seems he has arrived at his conclusion.

"Yes." His smile is confident, friendly even, though mockingly so. Trying not to laugh, her lips curl together against one side of her face and the dark waves around her face sway as she shakes her head.

"Cheeky bastard." She breathes, though he can see it in her face, she's enjoying this.

"Would you really want me any other way?" He challenges her, leaned forward just a little bit.

"What other way?" She quirks an eyebrow, "You mean, polite? Sweet? Gracious? Can't imagine why _any_ girl would wish for such things."

'_He's such a dolt.' _She thinks to herself wryly, ignoring the fact that he's right. Perfect Arthur would be disgustingly boring. Who would she take her frustration out on? Who would she have to challenge her? Existence in Camelot would be adequate with out his arrogant, fiery disposition. But it would also drag on endlessly, leaving her restless and feeling more than a little trapped.

"The men I invited to court," He's so close now she can feel the edges of his warm breath. "Why didn't you dance with any of them at the feast?"

Truth be told, Morgana hadn't even noticed there _had_ been dancing.

"Not all dancing takes place on a marble floor, Arthur." She teases him, though there is no foundation of truth behind her words. She can't resist the chance to try and make _him_ a little jealous. And it works, his eyes flashing with a wounded kind of anger. When she can longer hold back a giggle at his expression, he realizes she was only toying with him.

"Don't do that." He orders her and his tone is serious, even if his voice is still soft.

"Or you'll what?" She asks, putting on her best seductive smile, eyes alight with the soft flicker of candlelight. But the light goes out when he takes her by surprise, pushing her up against the stone ledge of her window, his shadow looming over her.

"You act as though you can play with fire and never get burned." He murmurs, eyes swirling intensely with a mixture of fury and passion. "How can I protect you if you keep jumping into the flames?"

"I don't always need protecting, Arthur. And I don't always need _you_." This last admission is what throws him over the edge. How can she say that? How is it possible that she doesn't feel the sparks of electricity that seem to excite the air whenever they are even in the same room? Desperate for one last chance at making her understand, he leans down and kisses her.

It isn't gentle and it isn't sweet. In true Arthur-Morgana-I-hate-you-I-love-you fashion, his lips are possessive of hers while at the same time, while at the same time challenging her to keep up with him. And she does, returning his every push with one of her own. Everything she feels, all of her frustration and anger and pent up affection pour out in this kiss and he's sure he can feel it all against his own mouth.

Wrapping a hand around her waist and securing another under her thigh, he lifts her up onto the window sill, their mouths still battling one another.

'_This must stop.' _A tiny voice inside her brain shouts desperately._ 'This will never work, it shouldn't happen. Uther will slaughter us both.'_

But Morgana stopped listening to that voice long before this night. In that moment, she is absolutely sure that no threat of punishment will ever be enough to wrench her mouth away from his. Not that she could if she wanted to anyway. His arms are wrapped tightly around her, hands clenched around fistfuls of her long hair. As he holds her body against his, she wraps her legs around his hips and both can't help thinking even this isn't close enough.

When her legs lift to curl around his own, they take her skirts with her, hitching the soft material up around her thighs. Arthur takes the opportunity to let his fingers press into the soft, exposed skin, inching further up with every breathless second. Finally, as his hands meet her hips, their mouths break away from one another. All battered lips and heaving chests, they stare each other down for a moment. Slowly, Arthur peels away his cloak and jacket as Morgana undoes the belt that hangs from his hips, holding his sheathed sword. Curling her fingers around the laces of his tunic, she undoes those as well, glancing up to meet his watchful eyes once or twice. They work together in lifting the shirt over his head and she feels almost relieved, no longer competing for his affections but finally receiving them.

As he leans into her again, his warm mouth finds her neck and she can't suppress a soft moan as he begins undoing the laces of her dress. His face still cradled against her shoulder, lost in the rosemary scent of her hair, Morgana takes the opportunity to comb his own hair through her fingers. She sighs, taking divine pleasure in the knowledge that neither the moon, nor the wind, nor the rain, nor even the sun will have him in the hours to follow. Tonight, he belongs to no one but her.

* * *

So? What'd you think? I really love the way this turned out, I think my favorite scene was the 'rain' bit lol. What was yours?


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